


To Have And To Hold Down

by MistressKat



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: BDSM, Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, First Time, M/M, Power Play, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-27
Updated: 2010-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-07 14:18:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressKat/pseuds/MistressKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"You say his name and this stops. Is that clear? You know who I mean, don't you Chris?"</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [drunkenfop](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=drunkenfop).



> Beta by the brilliant [bloorebel333](http://bloodrebel333.livejournal.com/)
> 
> There is a [DVD Commentary](http://kat-lair.livejournal.com/49705.html) available for this fic.

The pub was noisy and crowded, filled to the brim with coppers determined to play hard after a long shift of working hard.

Ray took a deep drag, feeling the arid smoke coalesce in his lungs. He held his breath for a few seconds longer than comfortable and finally blew it out, watching the swirls mix and vanish into the murky air of the room. 

It had been a good, clean bust. A routine chat with a regular snitch had produced some interesting information about stolen guns. A little traditional detective work – none of that fancy pussyfooting that DI let’s-all-be-nice-to-the-poor-misunderstood-criminals so liked – had resulted in an early-morning raid and a day of paperwork. It hadn’t been that exciting, but – Ray grudgingly admitted – it _had _been good, solid police work.

And yet… he wasn’t satisfied. A restless, fidgety feeling churned inside him, and nothing helped, not the booze, not the fags, not the throb of his bloody knuckles which he’d slammed on the toilet door earlier in an effort to just make it fucking *stop* for a minute. 

He drowned his drink and leaned against the back wall. Arms crossed tightly to restrain the thrumming, twisting _something_ that was shaking his body apart, he surveyed the scene in front of him.

Over at the bar the Guv was holding court, surrounded by eager fresh-faced uniforms, one hand holding a half-filled pint, another one resting on Tyler’s shoulder. There was a roar of laughter as Gene got to the punch-line. For a split second the tableau seemed to freeze and Ray could see every detail with crystal clarity: the way brown liquid pooled on the dirty floor from a fallen bottle; the long lines of Sam’s neck as he threw his head back, uninhibited for once in his amusement; Guv’s eyes everywhere at once, always watching and evaluating, and – more and more lately – lingering on his second-in-command. 

And then, inevitably, his gaze came to rest on a mop of dark hair above a pair of slender shoulders currently covered in a fake leather jacket. Chris.

Chris, with his easy smiles and dumb jokes and insecure streak a mile-wide. Chris with his need for approval and eagerness to please and all the things Ray shouldn’t notice, like his ridiculously long lashes, his crooked mouth and the way his shirt rode up at the back revealing a strip of white skin. 

Chris with his forehead resting against Sam’s arm, shaking with laughter because obviously it was a fucking *riot* to be draped all over their superior like a cheap slut. Goddamn idiot…

Ray’s gut tightened painfully and he was half-way across the room before he realised he’d moved. But he couldn’t just fucking stand by and watch Chris… 

What? Watch Chris do exactly what? Ray slowed down, trying to shake his head clear. This was beyond stupid, he couldn’t just elbow his way into a group of _coppers _like a jealous lover, for God’s sake, and besides it was nothing, nothing at all.

But over at the bar Sam was looking at him, eyes dark and amused over Chris’ shoulder. The moment stretched for long seconds and he couldn’t breathe because Sam *knew*, saw right through him and Ray was frozen between one step and another. Then Sam smiled, slow and deliberate, ducking his head down, eyes never leaving Ray’s and whispered something in Chris’ ear, making the younger man double over helplessly and before he knew it Ray was moving. 

*** 

Chris was propelled around mid-sentence, his head fuzzy-full of alcohol and struggling to keep up.

“Wha…? Hey, Ray!” His pint sloshed over but it didn’t matter because hey look, it was Ray! Chris smiled brightly at his… well not a friend exactly, but… something. And the Guv was here too. And Sam. He turned back towards the DI, feeling drunk and loose and very friendly. 

Sam, Sam, Sam.

It was a good name. He tried it out loud. 

“Sam, Sam, Sam.”

“Chris, Chris, Chris.” Sam answered, the serious tone betrayed by the laughter-lines around his eyes. It was the most hilarious thing ever. Chris inhaled some of his beverage, coughing and wheezing, barely able to stay on his feet.

“DC Skelton, I believe you are intoxicated in public premises.” 

And that was funny too. So funny in fact that Ray’s gruff “I’ll take care of it, Guv.” didn’t register until he was yanked back and towards the door by his jacket.

Ray dragged him out and into the alley behind the pub, the roar of voices fading away until it was only his own, all giggles and feeble protests. He slipped on the wet cobble stones, the brick wall cold and grimy under his hand as he braced against it for balance, still weak from laughter. 

“Hey, easy there, I’m…”

Ray slammed him against the wall and for a while Chris thought he was going to take a swing at him but then the larger man visibly reined himself in and took a careful step back. 

“Is he fucking you yet? Or is the Guv keeping the leash short and tight?”

“What?! Who?” 

“DI Tyler. DI Scientific Method. DI Sherlock-fucking-Holmes.”

“Sam? No! Why would you…?” Chris almost started laughing again, only he wasn’t quite sure he got the joke. 

“Shut up!” He could feel the other man’s hot breath on his face and suddenly it wasn’t so funny anymore.

“Sam this and Sam that. I’m sick of your hero worship. A man makes a one mistake – one! – and suddenly he’s not worth knowing!” 

What the…? Chris bristled at the implication. Ray made it sound like he was a snot-nosed little kid, star struck with a local trouble-maker. Which of course wasn’t true. Although Sam – DI Tyler he quickly corrected himself – _did _cause a considerable amount of trouble and Chris _was _younger than the rest of the CID, but that was it. There was no hero worshipping involved. Although the way Sam had pulled that girl from the…

A hard punch made his head spin, snapping his attention back to the man in front of him. 

“You’re thinking of him right now aren’t you?”

Chris brought a hand to his mouth, feeling the stinging and warm wetness where the force of the hit had split his lip. 

Hit.

Ray had hit him. Not badly but… 

“Answer me!”

“No. I’m not thinking of him.” 

And he really, really wasn’t. It was if the sudden flare of violence had wiped his mind clean because Chris didn’t seem to be able to form any coherent thoughts at all. Everything narrowed down to feeling, to purely physical sensation.

He stood still, mind oddly blank and peaceful, feeling the ghost of heatpain of Ray’s palm. His body felt heavy and lethargic, skin growing unbearably sensitive, his clothes suddenly restrictive. 

The night air smelled of rain and danger and men in brink of something new and dark. Chris breathed deeply through his mouth to get more, better and then Ray was right there in his face and Chris flinched, expecting another punch but no, that wasn’t it, it was too close.

Too close to see Ray’s mouth closing over his bleeding lip. 

It wasn’t even a kiss, just Ray making a goddamn *claim* of ownership, all teeth and tongue, but by the time Ray’s hands closed around his biceps and pushed him down Chris was hard and panting.

 “I’ll give you something else to think about.” 

His knees hit the gravel hard, warm blood already seeping through the threadbare slacks. The pain pulsed in counter to his heartbeat, fast and erratic and lifting him high, higher, as far as he could stretch until his head was cradled in Ray’s hands, tilted back and held immobile.

He couldn’t see Ray, just the dark sky, water drizzling down and into his eyes, blinding him further. Chris blinked rapidly, mouth falling open to catch the clean taste of rain and blood and before he could think further there was a sound of a zipper being lowered and for once he knew exactly what was coming. 

Ray’s cock forced its way past his lips, scraping them raw and Chris gagged, swallowed, too much and not enough.

It didn’t matter that he’d never done it before. It didn’t matter that he was starting to panic, struggling to breathe around the thickness in his mouth. It certainly didn’t matter whether he wanted to do it or not. 

And while everything else that had happened during the last ten minutes was strange and unexpected, this was something Chris was intimately familiar with. There was a sense of security that came with having one’s choice taken away, safety in surrender. Obedience left no room for mistakes.

“Come on Chris, open up. That’s a good boy.” Ray’s hands coaxed his head into a better angle, 

Instinctively he relaxed his throat and Ray slid deeper, pulled out, back in with a long thrust. Chris moaned, eyes wide and unseeing, his own cock twitching in sympathy.

Chris had always been good at following orders. He had liked the boundaries, the feeling of being useful. He just hadn’t known it was possible to like being _used _as well. 

Ray was cupping his face with both hands now, fucking his mouth fast and hard and Chris just wanted more, needed Ray to take it all.

And then Ray was coming, sea-salt taste filling his mouth and he swallowed and swallowed, until hard hands were pushing him away. 

Chris didn’t want it to stop. He tried to follow but Ray kept him in place. Chris was aching, out of his mind, a good boy, yes, pleaseplease, so hard.

“Let me, Ray, letmeletme...” Begging, he was begging, licking Ray’s come off his lips and he needed, wanted, squirmed under Ray’s hands that were still fisted in his hair. 

“Come on. Bring yourself off, I want to watch.”

Chris started to unbuckle his belt, acutely aware of their less than private surroundings but beyond caring. 

“No, keep them on. I want you to come in your pants for me.”

Shame flushed against his skin, hot and arousing, 

He pressed the heel of his hand down hard on his aching cock, desperate for relief. The thought of how he must look, kneeling down on a filthy street, Ray’s come drying on his face, made him flush with embarrassment and he hesitated, frozen in place.

“Again. Don’t stop. I won’t let you go until you come.” Ray’s voice was low and rough, his fingers tightening their hold, making Chris’ eyes tear up. 

“P…please.” But the plead dissolved into another moan, a treacherous hand already curling around his hard-on, squeezing just right because, yeah, he knew how to bring himself off and now Ray would too.

Ray’s nails were blunt half-moons of pain on his scalp, making the pleasure sharper, keener and he sobbed because he wanted *skin* but Ray wouldn’t let him. He arched taut, hips stuttering up to meet his own palm, too desperate to get any proper rhythm going. But it was enough because jesusgod he was right on the edge already, breath coming in ragged puffs. And above him Ray was _smiling_, wild and brilliant and cruel and that was all it took, Chris was coming in his pants – just like Ray wanted. He would have screamed if not for Ray’s other hand that came down hard on his mouth, muffling sound but not the white hot rush of orgasm tearing him open like a jagged knife. 

When he came to, in what felt like hours, Ray was crouching down shaking him by the shoulders.

“Chris. Chris, come one, snap out of it. We got to go.” 

“Uhm, ok, yeah.”

He felt dizzy getting to his feet, body heavy and uncooperative. Ray started towards the parking lot and Chris stumbled after him, the only way to go now. 

There was a wet spot in front of his trousers and for a few seconds he couldn’t work out why. And when his sluggish brain finally made the connection Chris was already sitting in Ray’s car – no closer to any real answers.


	2. Chapter 2

The ride was spent in silence.

Ray parked the car in front of a nondescript block of flats of which one, Chris assumed, must be where he lived. 

They sat in silence for a long time. Chris kept stealing glances at the other man but was too unnerved to say anything. He could still taste Ray in his mouth, his throat sore, scalp throbbing where Ray had gripped his hair. It was… not an entirely unpleasant feeling. And that’s what was freaking him out the most.

He could get out. Another quick look to his right confirmed that Ray was still deep in… whatever it was that had him squeezing the steering wheel with a white-knuckled intensity, eyes fixed on the dark street behind the windscreen. He probably wouldn’t even notice if Chris just opened the door and walked away. 

He should do it. It was the best, the smartest, the easiest… the hand that had crept onto the door handle suddenly froze.

He didn’t want to leave. 

He could though. Even in the alley, when Ray had pushed him down, he could have fought, he could have run, he could have shouted for help. He hadn’t.

Instead he had gone on his knees and opened his mouth and taken everything Ray had given. He had been shocked and scared and even hurting but at no point had he even _tried_ to resist. 

That meant something. He wanted to find out what. To do that he had to stick around.

“So, er…” 

Ray turned towards him but didn’t say anything. “We going in or what?” Chris continued, aiming for nonchalance and failing miserably.

Ray was out and on the other side of the car so fast Chris barely had time to blink before he was being pulled to his feet and rammed against the hood. Ray looked wild and dangerous and for a fleeting moment Chris thought they were not going to make it inside, that Ray was going to have him right here on the rain-soaked parking lot. The idea both scared and excited him and he thrashed around, finding no purchase on the wet metal. 

But no, Ray unclenched his fists with visible effort and strode towards the building without a backward glance. Chris followed wordlessly, still shaking and so turned on it was difficult to walk straight.

They climbed the stairs in silence, the floor filthy under their feet, air smelling like burnt dinners, old and rotting. Once they made it to the fifth landing, Ray offered the keys to him, waving a hand towards the door on the left. Slowly Chris reached over, fingers closing over cold metal, the serrated edge a solid pressure against his palm. It was a test. A test to see what he would do. 

Ray took a step back, giving Chris plenty of room to unlock the door. Or to run away.

Unlike earlier in the alley, or even in the car, Ray was completely still, seemingly in control. His eyes were hooded, face shadowed by the dark. For long silent seconds they stared each other and then Chris turned around and inserted the key into the lock, pushing the door open and stepping inside. 

The moment Chris was over the threshold Ray was on him, kicking the door closed and pressing him to the wall.

The impact forced the breath out of him in a hot rush of air and he gasped for more, Ray’s body blanketing him entirely. Ray had two stones on him, easily, and Chris knew that even if he tried he couldn’t dislodge the other man, the weight of him both safe and suffocating. 

Just as it would have become too much, Ray eased back, allowing Chris to turn around in the circle of his arms. He couldn’t see anything but he could feel Ray’s breath ghosting over his face, hot and tart with the smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke.

“You say his name and this stops. Is that clear? You know who I mean, don’t you Chris?” 

Chris nodded frantically. _Sam, Sam, Sam…_ the name pulsating through his mind but not escaping the barrier of his lips.

“Stop it! You’re thinking about him. You’re with me, you only think about me. Is that clear?” 

“Y-yes.”

“Yes who?” 

“Yes, Ray.” Not Sam.

Ray growled in answer and then Chris was being kissed, deep and ferocious, Ray’s tongue shoving its way in, down, all over Chris’ mouth, taking every last doubt and question with it. 

Everything around them was dark, black shapes against a black background and a square of greyness to Chris’ left that must be a window. But Ray didn’t need sight to be able to manoeuvre in his own apartment. His movements were sure and steady as he guided Chris around obstacles, finally pushing him down on something soft and creaky. A sofa, Chris thought, rubbing a hand on scarred leather.

“Stay there. I got to put some lights on, wanna see you.” Chris felt blunt fingers skim the side of his face, trailing down to dip into the hollow of his throat. He swallowed, convulsively, and nodded, chin brushing Ray’s knuckles. 

Two quick steps and a table lamp flared to light, bringing the living room into focus. Chris was indeed sitting on an old brown leather sofa, facing a large, new looking telly. Against the opposite wall there was a matching armchair and next to it a bookshelf with various knickknacks in it but not too many actual books. In the corner stood a battered dining table and a couple of mismatching chairs. The room was bare but oddly comfortable, lived-in.

Ray settled into the armchair, stretching out his legs. Chris’ gaze followed the long line of his body, finally coming to rest on Ray’s broad hands that were curled into loose fists and tapping a restless rhythm against the leather. 

“Well now, what should we do now? Any ideas?” The question itself was so mild, so _normal_, as if Ray was expecting him to say ‘How about a beer?’ or ‘I think there’s a game on tonight’.

But there was nothing normal about tonight. And football and beer were the last things on his mind. 

Chris shivered and with a muted thump slid to his knees, keeping his eyes firmly on the threadbare carpet. Shame burnt through him, the flames of it licking skin. Ray’s low chuckle told him he was blushing hard. What would people think if they saw him like this? What would _Sam_ think if he…

But Chris knew the answer to that, had know all along. He remembered, in the pub, Sam’s breath, hot against his face and full of words like _want_ and _jealous_ and _just follow my lead_. He’d laughed at it then, too pissed to put the words together and Sam had too, it had been all drunken gibberish, a great joke. 

Except not so much now.

Yes, he knew what Sam would think, what he would _do_. Exactly what Ray was doing now, only more. The image of him, lithe and quiet, flashed through Chris’ mind – so different from Ray although not really, not in the way it counted. 

“I’m waiting.” Ray’s voice had taken on a familiar edge, anger simmering just below the surface.

Chris licked his lips nervously, heart hammering inside his ribcage, loud and erratic like church bells in a storm. This was… he didn’t… “What do you want me to say?” 

“Tell me what you want me to do. If you don’t ask for it, it won’t happen.”

No, no, no. Something _had_ to happen. He needed it to. “Please” he said “I want to… like earlier. Behind the pub. Please.” 

“You liked that, huh? Tell me.”

“I want to…” He swallowed, the taste of come still lingering on his tongue. “…touch you. Suck you. Please, I want you in my mouth.” 

“No.” Ray’s decision was final.

That wasn’t right. 

“But, but… I thought… Wasn’t it okay? Was I not good enough? I’m sorry, Ray, please…”

“That’s not it, Chris. Not it at all. You were plenty good.” Ray rubbed his crotch almost absently, never taking his eyes of Chris. He was smiling but it wasn’t exactly a happy expression. “In fact, you were a bit _too_ good to be a complete virgin… But that’s something we’ll have to discuss at another time.” 

Chris fidgeted silently, knees digging into the floor, both pleased and apprehensive at the same time.

“The reason I don’t want you to blow me again is quite simply this.” He leaned closer, one hand reaching to grab Chris’ jaw, yanking his head up roughly. “I’m going to fuck you.” He brought their faces together, fingers squeezing like a vice. “I’m going to fuck you but good, Chris, until you beg and plead and fucking _cry_ like the little girl you are. And then…” 

Suddenly Ray got to his feet, jerking Chris up with him until the smaller man was dangling in an awkward position, not really kneeling, not quite standing. It hurt, the line of his neck stretched taut like a twine ready to snap and Chris knew – knew without a doubt – that at that moment Ray _could_ do it. He could break him in half, all it would take was a right amount of pressure at the back of his neck.

“…_then_ we will see whose name you scream.” Ray let go and shoved, hard, sending Chris stumbling backwards. 

For a few seconds Chris laid on the floor, gasping for breath. Ray stood over him, lips curling like soured milk. “Back on your knees. Strip.”

Chris struggled upright and closed his eyes tightly, concentrating on Ray’s voice giving directions. _Get rid of the sweater._ He pulled it over his head. _Unbutton your shirt._ His fingers went to the collar, fumbling with the buttons. _Slow down._ He did – until the shaking of his hands became obvious and Ray laughed, low and satisfied. He struggled with the cuffs, almost managing to trap himself in the hurry to shed the garment, but finally the cloth yielded and pooled on the floor. 

“I want you to touch yourself.”

An involuntary moan escaped his mouth. Yes, thank God, _finally_. Chris knew this part and his hands crept to the bulge in front of his trousers, still damp from rain and their earlier activities. 

Suddenly fingers clamped down painfully on his wrist, stopping its progress with a vicious grip. Chris’ eyes snapped open. Ray was kneeling in front of him, his expression hard.

“Not yet. Don’t go below the belt until I tell you to.” 

He’d only touched himself like this when he was alone. Men weren’t supposed to care about stuff like this – slow caresses and lingering touches were for girls. Guys went straight for the main event.

Except… Chris usually didn’t. He liked to take his time and he wasn’t going to pretend not to know what Ray wanted. 

He palmed his own ribs, rubbing a lazy hand across his belly. It felt good. Warm. He sighed, eyes fluttering to slits. Ray’s breathing was coming fast and heavy, the tension rippling between them, the current pulling him in deep.

His fingers moved up to his nipples and he flushed violently, both from the physical sensation and the look in Ray’s eyes, all black and glinting sharply in the scarce light of the room. 

Chris needed more. He pinched harder, twisting his nipples until the ache became unbearable and he groaned, voice raspy and desperate, arching right into Ray, their chests bumping together.

He was dimly aware of a sound – a low moan, himself, keening – before being ruthlessly pulled up by his hair. Ray’s tongue was down his throat and he didn’t even remember being kissed but that didn’t matter, nothing mattered except the wet, dirty plunge of it. Chris sucked, sloppy and greedy and_ fuck yeah_ getting it now for real. Ray’s hands were digging into the vulnerable skin of his back and Chris imagined bruises that would bloom there tomorrow, black and purple flowers of lust. 

Ray groped for his fly, the clink of buckle and buttons the only warning he got before trousers and underwear were pushed out of the way and blunt fingers were skimming, scratching, grabbing his sweat-slick hips.  Chris tried to thrust up, frantic for release, but the other man wasn’t having any of it.

Instead, Ray jerked his mouth away, simultaneously wrenching Chris’ belt free and bending him over the table in one smooth move. 

He was completely helpless, pants bunched around knees and effectively immobilising his legs. Ray held him down, one hand at the back of his neck, the other looping the thin leather belt around his wrists until they were tied together, resting snug just above the swell of his bare buttocks.

The arousal running through him was dark around the edges, tinged with fear and all the more intense for it. Chris gasped for breath and struggled in vain against the restraints, the wood of the tabletop unyielding under his cheek. Playtime was over. 

A tiny part of him still wondered why he wasn’t fighting, how this had happened, why he would let Ray… and Sam, God yes, he would let Sam as well… Chris felt blood rush to his groin, leaving him light-headed and writhing, his cock trapped painfully against the table edge.

“Jesus.” Ray said. “Stay still!” And Chris tried, he really did, but the loud _smack_ of Ray’s palm against his arse made his whole upper torso lift clean off the table. 

He didn’t have time to react before Ray brought his hand down again and again, hitting his stinging flesh with vigour, each impact slamming him forward.

Ray was punishing him. It was because of Sam, Ray kept telling him, because of how Chris behaved around the DI, making a fool of himself. And of Ray. 

Chris couldn’t think past the pain, he was drowning, sinking under the red haze of shame and arousal. He deserved this, needed to be shown what he could and could not do. And Ray was right, he had been stupid, fawning around Sam like a puppy, waiting for something that he already had and just didn’t realise.

After a while the slaps eased into lingering caresses. Ray ran a proprietary hand down his spine and over his ass and all the way to his thighs, quivering and barely able to support his weight anymore. He was rubbing in the heat, fingers separating his cheeks and disappearing between. Chris begged, the litany of pleas muffled and broken. 

“Fuck! Hold on, I need to…” Five quick steps and Chris heard a door being wrenched almost off its hinges, a drawer scraping open, and then Ray was back, his hands once again roaming over him, everywhere at once.

Chris squirmed as much as he could, belt tightening around his wrists, the bite of it oddly welcome. 

“Shit, Chris, you should see yourself. All trussed up, your pink ass in the air, spread out just for me.”

There was a sound of a jar lid being opened and then cold, slick fingers were probing at his opening, breaching him two at the time, all force and no finesse. 

Fuck, that hurt. Chris panted through the pain, eyes wide and tearing up. Sure, he’d known this was coming, had believed Ray’s promise, but he hadn’t _known_, not in any real sense of the word. _Sam, Sam, Sam_ his mind chanted and he was going to say it out loud soon, he _was_, any minute now…

Then Ray’s fingers curled and rubbed and Chris was on fucking fire. 

Every coherent thought melted away in the sudden heat that coiled tight inside him before spreading in waves throughout his whole body. He broke out in sweat, belly sliding along the table as he blindly pushed back, desperate for more.

“God, I knew it. You’re such a slut.” Ray pulled his fingers out with a final nasty little twist and Chris sobbed from the loss and emptiness, his breaths raw and frantic. Had he done something wrong? 

But then he felt a blunt pressure at his opening as Ray pushed in all the way with one smooth thrust and Chris shuddered all over; the pain before nothing compared to this. Ray’s cock was a steady relentless burn in his ass, cleaving him in half. He was crying openly now, just like Ray’d promised he would, muscles clenching as he fought against the intrusion, against the restraints, against his own treacherous body that was already relaxing into compliance. Pleasure was a white-hot current pulling him asunder and Chris gave up, gave in, gave everything he had, the intimacy of their position undeniable, his submission absolute.

In that moment of surrender Chris would have stumbled over the precipice if not for Ray’s hand reaching around, thumb and forefinger wrapping around the base of his cock and squeezing hard, staving off the inevitable. “Do. Not. Come.” Each word emphasised with a tightening of fingers. “Not until I say so.” 

“I won’t, I won’t. Just… please, oh God, I need…”

Ray’s hand withdrew, only to smack down on his buttocks once more before seizing his hips in a brutal grip. Ray rammed his cock into him, the head sliding over and over the sweet spot inside and Chris could feel it all the way at the back of his fucking throat. He was trying not to come, not yet, not yet, oh Jesus, please soon. The need for release made his balls throb and tighten, the agony of it lifting him higher. 

And yet, underneath it all, a single thought pulsed bright in his mind. _Sam._

But not Sam alone. Ray was there too. Had always been. 

Chris bit down hard on his split lip, causing a trickle of fresh blood seep into his mouth, desperate to keep quiet. He couldn’t trust himself to cry the right name – didn’t even know what the right name was anymore – and he didn’t want this to stop.

Sam and Ray. Ray and Sam. The two men merged and shifted, one inside his mind, the other inside his body, and oh God he couldn’t tell which was which anymore. 

It was Sam who bit down, teeth sinking into his shoulder, seeking muscle underneath the skin and making Chris scream and rear up, back crashing against the hard body over him. And that was Ray, Ray slamming into him, fast and deep, hand coming down to Chris’ cock, pumping once, twice, thumb brushing the slit, slippery with precome.

He squeezed around the thickness in his ass, a sudden rush of scalding liquid splattering his insides and pushing him over. His cock jerked in Ray’s fist – Sam’s mouth – the cradle of fingers and tongues taking possession, taking away control and choice. Chris was coming, the world going nova under his eyelids, orgasm tearing him apart, the blades of pleasure sharp and merciless. 

_Ray, _he thought. _Sam._

Then nothing.

***                                                         

Awareness returned slowly, creeping around the borders of consciousness like a thief in the night. Ray dropped his forehead into the slick valley of Chris’ shoulder blades, breathing in the musky scent of sweat and semen that arose from the two of them in waves.

Shards of thoughts kept falling around him like broken glass in a bar fight and the biggest of them was _shit, what have I done?_ But there were others, quieter but no less insistent like _so good _and _finally_ and _mine_. Ray let the last one float to the surface, mouthing it against Chris’ damp skin, somewhat startled by the loudness of his own voice. 

Chris made a wordless hum that sounded agreeing, his sluggish movement causing after shocks of pleasure that made Ray tighten his hold again. They stayed like that for another minute, both trembling from the effort to maintain contact but at last Ray had to pull out.

He made short work of the belt, freeing Chris’ wrists and helping him to his feet. “Go on, get into the shower. You stink to high heaven.” 

The younger man just blinked at him, boneless like a rag doll, letting himself be moulded and arranged. Ray liked that. Liked it enough to kiss him, softer than before, taking his time. He could afford to do that now.

“Come on then, we’ll both go.” 

They were still half-dressed and it was an effort to get out of the clothes, exhaustion making their limbs slow and clumsy. The shower was quick and functional –hot water never lasted long anyway, besides which, Chris was nodding off and Ray had to hold him upright against the wall tiles to keep him from collapsing.

Chris’ pale skin was turning angry red at places, bruises the shape of Ray’s hands starting to appear on his back, hips and arse. Ray felt his mouth water at the sight and he had to quell the desire to just push Chris down to his knees and take him again. It would be so easy, he knew, there would be no resistance from the younger man. He could, it was his _right_. And for now that had to be enough. 

Ray kept his mind carefully blank until they were safely in the bedroom, Chris falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. It was only Thursday, they had to be at work tomorrow and Ray had no idea how he would manage that.

They would have to drive in together, Chris’ car was still at the pub. And people would talk, no doubt about it, because Chris was utterly incapable of keeping anything from showing on his face. Ray could just see it now. Phyllis not meeting his eyes but cataloguing every little detail, fodder for the rumour mill. Guv would smirk but not say anything, probably as unsurprised as Ray himself and Tyler…

And Ray couldn’t help but smile, lazy and mean, because really, who was having the last laugh here?

Chris hadn’t said it. Hadn’t said Sam’s name. For a short moment he felt content with that, running an idle hand across the younger man’s back, the flat dark and quiet around them once more. But after a while the smile faltered, doubts crawling under his skin like a swarm of insects.

Because Chris hadn’t said his name either. Not when it mattered.


End file.
